The Stars Wept
by This Is Sarcasm
Summary: Jarus did indeed, burn his mind to become a Shadow. But it was not a choice. And he will never forgive-not Calus, not himself, ever.


The Fulminator knew which one to choose because he was the only one who reached _towards_ her.

She could not fathom why this biped, this Sindu whose ship was only one of an entire squadron she had destroyed with her powers, had reached towards her. She could tell that was what he was doing; one hand was desperately trying to clamp down on the broken oxygen feed of his helmet, and the other was reaching, stretched in equal desperation, towards her.

Perhaps the concept of someone actually wanting to touch her, or at least the suit she was contained in, entranced her. Not even Rull, not even Nohr, was brave enough to touch her. Not even to pull her out of the line of fire, though there was no danger of her ever being injured.

So, in the vacuum, surrounded by broken ships and choking Sindu, she released certain limiters on her suit to allow for movement towards him. His hand latched to her 'shoulder' almost immediately, and the other left his throat and worked around her back. What... was _this_? It some display of affection to his killer, it made no _sense_!

Then she felt him fumbling with her limiters. She locked them down. _So, his intent was to try to kill me._ Now she _knew_ this was the one; this was the one her emperor would want.

She wrapped her arms around him. She could _feel_ the life draining out of him as he choked. Using different pulses of electricity, she sent a message to Feltroc.

 **Be ready. I have him.**

She manipulated her limiters again, and then, she manipulated physical reality. With this suit, she could travel outside the pocket of infinity the Arcborn were usually confined to, without sacrificing certain aspects of of her existence as pure energy. In one instant, they were in space; the next, back on the tiny ship that Calus owned. All at once, she could now hear the Sindu pilot's weak struggles for breath, and his weakened body, no longer able to stand, was limp against her.

"Are you sure? He looks kind of small." Feltroc commented as the Fulminator gently lowered the pilot to the floor. She looked up to the psion.

 **So are you.** The words flashed across the screen of her helmet. She removed the Sindu's helmet, and he took a heaving gasp for life. **Now, make him sleep.**

This biped looked odd, though all of them did. His face was rough, covered in small scales, as was the front of his neck. But at the scalp began the plumage the Sindu were known for, and his was colored brilliant shades of luminescent blues, indigos, and purples. The crest of feathers on his head, and those that lined his neck like a mane, were left flattened by his armor, and his large eye were gem-like thin rings of green around a sea of black that was the same shade as cabal blood.

He made a weak motion as if to fight back against Feltroc, but the air sang, and his arm lowered, and he sank into unconsciousness. Feltroc called the healers, and the Fulminator left.

Her job was done.

* * *

His ears still rang with the Cabal Emperor's words.

 _Last star-pilot of the Sindu._ The last. He couldn't be the last.

But when Jarus came to, restrained with Calus standing over him offering a choice that wasn't a choice, he had to believe it. And he believed it even more when the Emperor refused to kill him for insubmission, as he was the last and couldn't afford to be damaged. Not _physically_.

He shut his eyes, his brain felt like a raw wound, the kind that was aggravated by even the most ginger of touches, and he was exhausted. How long had those one-eyed freaks been playing, burning his mind for? Jarus had lost the concept of time. He felt like a neutered animal, lacking all will to fight because he could no loner see the point, had been lobotomized to lack the idea of rebellion. But he just wanted to sleep.

Part of him just wanted to die. perhaps he could take his new-found submission and use it to his advantage? Gain access to a knife... slit his wrists and end it all...

"Can I touch it?" a new voice broke him from his dark thoughts. He blinked open his tired eyes slowly, and turned his head to look at the source of the sound.

It was another one of those wretched mind-burners. A female, this time, though not in the same dress as the others; no, this was wore armor. This one was a fighter. _Perhaps they have decided mental torture is not enough?_ He let out a wane laugh that turned into a cough from lungs that still felt raw from all the screaming. Not for the first time, he clenched his fists against his restraints.

"Touch what?" he asked hoarsely.

"You're feathers." not... the answer he was expecting. In fact, that was by far the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. He looked at her, unable to fathom what could warrant such a question.

One did not _pet_ a Sindu. _Ever_. It was a gross violation of their dignity!

But, before he could deny her request with a sharp tongue, she was at his side and stroking the crest that sprung from his scalp with a look of childish fasination in her single eye.

"Ooo, by all the stars, that's soft!" he kept expecting a mental invasion, and for several moments, he was too frozen with fear to jerk his head away. When he finally did so, she _pouted_. Of all the things, this creature actually _pouted_.

"You're here to strip what is left of my dignity? Then take my cloths if you must, but refrain from _petting_ me, _creature_!" he spat sourly. She backed away with an oddly defensive look on her face... or, at least he thought that was what that look was.

"No need to bite, birdy, it was just a bit of fun." she grumbled. She cast him a sly look. "Heard we'd be working together, thought I'd look into my new colleague. Nohr is a military narcissist, the Arcborn takes everything literally, and Sekris has a stick up his butt. I _really_ hope you have a sense of humor."

"Who would put a stick up... that is cruel, and unusual." Jarus shuddered with horror. "You _are_ monsters."

"Hey, we didn't put it there, he came with it as a package deal." there was that defensive look again. "By the way, JOKE, birdy, that was another JOKE."

"Feltroc, take your leave." a voice boomed from the doorway. Suddenly, Jarus' restraints released, and for a few seconds he didn't know what to do with his freedom. Calus was in the doorway. _Run._ A terrified voice in the back of his head whispered. _Obey him._ Said the meeker one that had resulted from his burned mind.

Legs shaking slightly as he put weight on them, the psion bowed to her leader and left. The movement of standing, and walking, caused bile to rise in his throat, and not just from his migraine. His battalion, his squadron, his friends, his family, would never walk, or stand, or blink, or breath, or fly again.

 _Rest, my brothers and sisters, and know that not only I weep for you, but the stars themselves as well._ It was an old prayer... one he made a hasty addition to.

 _And may you never forgive me for the crimes I know I will commit for this beast._

"Come, child; let me show you a gift." legs shaking, spirit gone, soul sold and mind burned, Jarus followed without hesitation.

* * *

 _And here we have Jarus! I kind of pictured a face of pilots being bird-people. I'm going to go ahead and base Feltroc's personality off of both her lines from the armor flavor texts, and Kasumi Goto from Mass Effect. I'm going to have fun with her, she's totally no something I expected from a psion._

 _Fare Thee Well!_


End file.
